I can promise you that this won’t be the most action-packed Ubi Libertas Blog post you’ve ever read. It won’t be the most interesting. It’s almost all about the weather, because weather is what mattered to me on one particular day in April.
I’d barely finished feeding the dogs yesterday morning when the first round of Day Three storms whacked The Mountain. Crazy thunder and lightning, along with flooding rain.
The dogs stayed in the camper while I went out to the cabin and got things situated for the near-inevitable hunkering that’d come later — lights on, dog beds out, food and water ready, and so forth. I built a fire in the woodstove to take the edge off the post-dawn chill.
By 8:30am, we’d entered a bit of a lull — just drizzle and thick fog, chalky sky, cool air, calm wind. I hoped it’d stay gloomy, too, without sun breaking through or anything resembling a warmup that’d fuel the tornado threat.
I took advantage of the break in the weather by going for a stroll. This place is positively magical when it’s soaked with spring rain — deeper, it seems, and darker, vibrating at a whole different frequency.
There was standing water in spots, much of it unavoidable as I walked. Noticing that disrupted my peace, if only briefly, serving to remind me that my trusty muck boots had been pilfered on Saturday.
In the embrace of these wet woods, however, peace returned to me quickly, and I moved on. I emptied the rain gauge — another two inches, bringing the two-day total to four.
Returning to the camper, I whipped up a smoothie and downed my daily dose of vitamins and supplements. I did the previous night’s dinner dishes and tidied up the joint. The dogs and I settled in to await the next round of heavy weather.
Storms that had been predicted to arrive before noon were pushed back to almost 6pm. I hesitated to look at that as a good sign, since I know how quickly conditions can change in this part of the country.
But I did take a nap.
I awoke thinking about transparency.
Politicians talk about it. Corporations brag about it. Processes are said to have it. Everyone says they want it.
Until, of course, it comes to requiring of oneself what we demand of others. Then it’s nobody’s business, right?
I’m fundamentally a private man. I keep my own counsel and keep to myself. What I’ve said here lately, and the very act of saying it, goes well beyond what I’d do under normal circumstances.
The veil has been pulled back — not for a chosen few, but for all the world.
I’ve already told you why. I won’t repeat myself.
You don’t have to like it. Hell, you don’t have to read it. But if you choose to be here, no matter how you feel about me and what I say, you won’t find darkness. You won’t find shame masquerading as privacy. You won’t find hate. You certainly won’t find silence.
Nothing stands between your eyes and the truth about this life, my life — truth that I’m committed to telling.
And now, back to the weather.
The National Weather Service issued a tornado watch for a large area, including Marion County, at 1pm, running ’til 9pm CDT. That wasn’t unexpected.
After grabbing a late shower, I dressed for the current and upcoming chill — days in the low 50s to mid-40s, overnights in the 30s. Monday and Tuesday mornings will be at or just below freezing.
I made a sandwich. I did a load of laundry, because I can. Have I mentioned that I love doing my own laundry?
Yes — yes, I believe I have.
Basically, I was killing time I didn’t know I’d get. Best to make the most of it.
It was shortly before 3pm when, with striking suddenness, Nature scoffed at the hour-by-hour forecast — rapid-fire lightning all around, scary-close, and impossibly heavy rain. It looked like we’d be in for quite a ride from then on.
I dashed out to the cabin and moved my laundry to the dryer, hoping power would stay on for at least an hour. It did — but it flickered mid-cycle, so I had to restart the (digital) machine.
Right about then, I checked the hourly again. The trouble spots, it seemed, would be between 7pm and 9pm, then from 11pm to 2am. And I knew that could change.
What was encouraging, I thought, was that the line advancing toward The Mountain was expected to organize, becoming more linear, which reduced the chances of isolated supercells in front of it spawning tornadoes. (Embedded supercells notwithstanding.) There were no guarantees, of course, but Day Three was beginning to look less threatening.
I watched and waited for that huge line of storms to clear. There were two, actually, and most of the time The Mountain was in less turbulent air between them. The eastern line was much more violent, and it wasn’t far away.
Our tornado watch was lifted hours before it was set to expire.
In the hourly forecast, projected activity shifted and then shrunk. Predicted intensity dissipated. Overnight on The Mountain became largely a rain event.
Now, the region faces what’s being characterized as “catastrophic” flooding.
Once again, a huge shout-out to Ryan Hall Y’all for his live coverage. Using my new Internet service, I streamed his YouTube feed to the TV in the living space. It worked flawlessly, and at an 85% savings over the service it replaced.
As it turns out, the dogs and I were prepared to hunker down yesterday but didn’t have to. Today and tomorrow, we’ll listen to the rain on the roof, minus the thunder, and give thanks that we’re high and dry on The Mountain.
Drops of fine mist glistened in the beam of my headlamp at 5am this morning. Lightning flashed half-heartedly to the south, followed by equally unconvincing grumbles of thunder.
The rain gauge in front of the cabin showed that The Mountain has received over six inches since Wednesday.
It’s great to be here.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable